Everything I know about Judaism, I learned in prison

I remember sitting in my room, 13 years old, listening to my parents argue. They were fighting about my bar mitzvah again.

We lived in Las Vegas and we weren’t at all religious, but my dad was Israeli-born, very spiritual, and a firm believer in Hashem. He thought a bar mitzvah was important; my mom didn’t want to push me. She knew the last thing I wanted was a bar mitzvah.

This time the argument wasn’t even about whether or not I would have a bar mitzvah. It was about why it was even a question.

The door flew open and my dad appeared. “Shawn,” he demanded, “You want a bar mitzvah, right?”

“I guess,” I stammered.

The fact that I didn’t care hurt him deeply. “What do you mean, ‘I guess’?” he retorted. “It’s very important that you have a bar mitzvah! We’re Jewish!”

I knew I was Jewish, but I wasn’t proud of it. I saw the Jewish kids around, and I was embarrassed to be associated with them.

With the help of a Chabad rabbi nearby, I had a quick bar mitzvah ceremony one morning. Then I went to school, as if nothing had happened. Because to me, nothing had.

*****

My life was about sports —football in particular. In eighth grade I played on a little league football team. Everyone knew me and noticed me. We never lost a game.

The coach of one of the opposing teams was Randall Cunningham. He was six feet five inches, a tall, athletic African American with a pleasant smile. He had played professional football. “You’re good, Balva,” he told me once. He knew I was Jewish. I remember the smirk on his face as he said, “You’re the Chosen One.”

I started training with him that summer. He pushed me very hard, preparing me for what it would take to go pro. I worked harder than I ever had in my life, and it was exhilarating.

When it was time to choose a high school, my one criteria was that it be the school that would give me the best chance to become a professional football player. Turned out, that school was Bishop Gorman High School, a Catholic private school. My dad refused to consider such a thing, and he and mom argued bitterly about it. But I wanted to go there because I wanted to go pro, and so that’s where I went.

At Bishop Gorman, I had to wear a uniform. The uniform was printed with a cross, and I also had to attend church services and a class on Catholicism every week. By a miracle, which I certainly didn’t appreciate at the time, none of this influenced me. I still felt my Jewish identity strongly — although it was a source of anguish, not pride.

That inner anguish eventually led me on a path of self-destruction. But even that was orchestrated by Hashem to bring me back to my true identity.